Cyronald
by Ford Prefect
Summary: Neville asks Ron to help him ask Hermione out to a dance. Wacky hijinks ensue! R/H
1. Default Chapter

**_Cyronald_****__**

_by Ford Prefect_

_Disclaimer:  Thank you, J.K. for your wonderful, imaginative, funny creation.  I bow to you, and waive all rights because these characters and this world?  Not mine._

_Rated:  PG-13?  Let's go with the feeling._

_Summary:  Neville asks a certain long-nosed, ginger-haired wizard for some assistance in wooing a witch with words, and the results?  Can you say 'wacky hijinks'?  Oh, I think you can._

A/N: Special thanks to my beta-reader, Moey. 

**Chapter One:  A Request******

            It was well past midnight in the Gryffindor common room and Ron Weasley sat alone in front of the low fire playing himself in a game of Wizard's chess.  He reached across the board and, grabbing his black bishop, viciously took a white pawn.  Immediately the other white chess pieces took offense, banging their weapons and shouting things that would most certainly cause Hermione to say, "Ron!" had it been him saying it.

           "Oi, shut up," he growled.  "You're going to wake up everyone in the dormitories." 

           There was a bit more complaining, but the chess pieces eventually shut up, although they did it sullenly as possible.  However, before either side had managed to check a king, Ron gave up the game.  It was no fun playing chess when the pieces insisted on being so temperamental.

           Pushing the board away, Ron drew up his long, freckled legs onto the squashy scarlet couch and sank back into the cushions, his eyes closed.  The fire warmed his ankles which jutted out from his too-short pajamas.  He yawned and burrowed deeper into his seat.

            "Stupid prats," he muttered.  What was wrong with everyone anyhow?  he wondered.  In Transfiguration class today Professor McGonagall had announced that due to overwhelming popularity and continued harassment from the students, Professor Dumbledore had decided that this year's Halloween feast would also be accompanied by a ball for fourth years and up.  Since then, practically everyone had lost their heads about it.  Dean and Seamus were almost acting as badly as Parvati and Lavender were.  All during dinner they were going on and on about it, to the point where Ron had even lost his appetite for the fabulous Hogwarts's toffee pudding with a side of vanilla custard.

            While he was trying to sleep, he could still hear Dean and Seamus discussing methods to ask girls to the dance and, he thought, the fit of their dress robes.  _Really, _Ron thought with annoyance, were they becoming girls or something?  _Next thing you know, Dean and Seamus were going to start curling their hair. _

           As for the other fourth year Gryffindor boys, Neville was extra squeaky whenever a girl came near him, and although Harry wasn't acting like he was absolutely barking mad, he'd gone kind of quiet all night long, and Ron had noticed him staring kind of moonily towards the Ravenclaw table.

It seemed like the only one who hadn't cracked, besides himself of course, was Hermione.  At least he could depend on her to act normal, or at least normal for Hermione.  She continued to nag him about the importance of preparing for the O.W.L.s and occasionally tutting the others when they tried to ask her if she was going to go to the ball with _Viktor Buggering Krum_.  

           Ron was grinding his teeth loudly when he heard a chair crash to the ground.  He jerked forward in his seat and looking around, saw that it was only Neville Longbottom.

           Ron yawned sleepily and stretched out his long arms.  He raised an eyebrow in the general direction of the staircase.  "What's up, Neville?"

           Neville's round face appeared out of the darkness as he stepped into the path of firelight.  "I couldn't sleep," he stammered nervously.  He twisted his pudgy hands together, and shuffled his feet back and forth.

           "Dean and Seamus still going on about the stupid Halloween dance?" Ron asked with a frown.  "What's up with everyone being so weird?  Honestly, from how excited everyone seems you'd think that England had just won the Quidditch World Cup or something."  

           "Yeah," Neville squeaked nervously.  There was a long silence, and Ron was about to offer Neville a seat when he said, "Hey, Ron?  You know about the dance . . ."

           Ron made an exasperated noise that wheezed out of both nostrils and became a snort.  "Oh no," he groaned, clapping his hand against his forehead, "not you too!"  Seeing Neville's face fall though, Ron quickly tried to recover.  "No wait, Neville.  It's okay.  What were you going to ask me?"  He gave him a weak smile.

           "It's just that . . ."  Neville looked around the room nervously as though afraid someone was eavesdropping on their conversation.  "Well it's, it's really nothing, that's what it is.  It's just that, d'you think that if a person wanted to ask someone to the dance, but wanted that person . . ."  Neville trailed off, his cheeks flushing enough to be obvious in the dim firelight.  "Nevermind," he mumbled.

           Ron watched him physically retract himself, and instinctively stood up, holding up one of his overlarge hands. "No, wait Neville.  What's up, mate?  Whadd'ya want to ask me?"  

Ron wondered if Neville was worried that no one would say 'yes,' but last year Neville had had a date before he had.  Granted, it had been _Ginny_, but still.  Anyway, there was always Eloise Midgen, and as a fifth year Ron was sure that if Neville asked any third or forth year that he'd have a date for the dance.  It wasn't as though Neville were a disgusting troll like Crabbe or Goyle.

           Neville slowly approached Ron and the squashy couch.  He stopped by one of the armrests and leaned against it.  He was biting his lower lip, and he kept his eyes downcast.  Then, in a whispery voice Ron heard him say, "I'd like to go to the Halloween dance with somebody, but I don't want them doing it out of pity.   I want them to go because they like me too."  

           Ron would never know what it cost Neville to admit that, but he felt something like admiration for him upon hearing it. 

           "Well I'm sure there's someone out there just right for you, mate," Ron boomed, clapping him encouragingly on the back.  Ron felt Neville's back stiffen.  

           "Neville?" Ron asked cautiously as though, like one of his potions, Neville was about to explode, or maybe burn a hole through the common room floor.  "What's up?"  Neville hesitated again.  

           "Oh c'mon, Neville.  You've said this much so far, just say whatever else you need to say."

            "There _is_ someone I actually have in mind.  It's just that--"

           "Well bloody hell, Neville, who is it?  Come out with it, mate."

           Neville gave him a strange, faraway look.  "Well—it's just that I wanted to ask  you something about it first.  To make sure if it was okay with you and all."

           Ron took a step back.  "Hey," he said suspiciously, "what are you going on about, Neville?  Do you want to ask me for permission to ask Ginny to the dance or something?  Because I didn't really have a problem with it, although if you tried any funny stuff—well, you know.  As her big brother," he continued, puffing up a little bit, "I do have certain _responsibilities _after all_._  Nothing personal though, mate."

           Neville's face turned even redder.  "This isn't about Ginny," he stammered nervously.  

           "It isn't?  Then who… what…?"  Ron rubbed his head in confusion.  What the hell was Neville going on about then?  Was Neville going to ask him for permission to ask his mum to the dance now?  The image of Neville trying to dance with his mum in puffy purple dress robe popped into his head and he shuddered involuntarily.  

           Honestly, Neville could act really funny sometimes.  Ron sometimes wondered if Neville had landed on his head afterall, when his Great Uncle Algie, reaching for a meringue, had dropped him out of the window.

Ron gave Neville another look, but this time noticed that his friend's face was turning a strange shade of red that Ron was pretty sure that even he had not yet achieved.  He was holding his breath, his eyes round with growing asphyxiation.  To see him was to think that a Hungarian Horntail was looming over him, a cool drink in one hand, some kippers in the other, and intent on a midnight snack.  Seeing Neville's terrified face, Ron was afraid he was going to explode and splatter him with bits of paisley pajamas.  He took a step back.  

"Neville?  Mate?" he asked cautiously.

"HERMIONE," Neville bleated, his face contorting until it relaxed in what was probably relief.  He took a deep breath and, as though this outburst had utterly deflated him, Neville sunk to the floor and fell back against the hem of one of the colorful tapestries hanging from the walls.  A painting of a maid in a blue frock pouring milk out of a jug gave him a cross look, sniffing disdainfully at the racket Neville was making.

"IsitokayifIaskHermione?" Neville blurted out, looking terrified again.  

           "Hermione?" Ron asked blankly.  He leaned down and looked more intently at Neville.   "Hermione Granger?"  Neville nodded vigorously.

           Ron jerked back, tried to say something but felt no sound coming from his mouth.  He straightened, still a little confused.  "Why are you asking me?  Since when did it matter what I thought about, well… Asking me for permission?  Honestly.  It's not my place to, you know--  What are you getting at, Neville?  "            

           "Well, I thought maybe you were going to ask her, you know, especially after the ball last year."

           Ron blanched.  Had _everybody_ heard his row with Hermione after the Yule Ball?  But he hadn't said anything to her about—or had he?  Did people think that he thought of Hermione like _that?  _So what if she was one of his best friends?  Best friends spent a lot of time together, naturally.  It could be easily construed that _something_ was going on between the two of them—after all, the same thing had happened with Harry last year, but then there had been that whole sordid business with that Bulgarian bumblehead, _Krum…_It was true that Hermione was definitely a girl.  The way she had turned allweird and _girlie_ at the ball last year was testament to that enough, but _honestly…  _

           "Rubbish," Ron finally said with a little more defiance than the situation called for.  "We're _friends_, Neville.  Good friends, but just friends."

           Neville looked at him skeptically.

           "WHAT?" Ron yelled, losing his temper. 

           "No…noothing," Neville stammered.  "I just thought that—well, I didn't want to step on your toes if you and Hermione had an _understanding._"

           An _understanding?_

Ron straighten himself up to his full height, which was now a good two inches taller than any other Hogwarts student.  He had grown tremendously over the summer, his shoulders also broadening, and his face losing some of the baby fat that Fred and George liked to grab and pinch when they would try to tease him by calling him, 'Mummy's baby ickleronniekins.'

"Ron?"

"Yeah?  Oh, right."  

"So it's okay if I ask Hermione to the ball then?"

"I don't see why not," Ron said, his lips forming a smile, but at the same time, feeling as though one of Hagrid's rock cakes had collided with the bottom of his stomach.  

"Will you help me?"

"Help?"  Did Neville want him to _ask_ Hermione for him? He could just imagine it now, and he could almost feel his hair being set on fire by the potent Infernus charm they had learned in Professor Flitwick's class earlier that week.  He could just imagine her angry face, her bushy brown hair taking on a life of its own and attacking him.  Ron cringed.

Neville made a strangled noise.  "Oh."  He shifted again in place.  "Ron, are you really sure it's okay, because if you like Hermione I won't ask her."

"Oi, don't be an idiot, Neville. Ha! Can you imagine me and Hermione like, well, like _that?_"  He snorted and then stared at the dying fire.  His face was so ruddy hot.  _Stupid fire, _he thought. He felt as though he had drunk one too many dregs of Hagrid's bad mulled wine. 

"Then you'll help me?"

"Help?  Neville," said Ron exasperated, "now what are you going on about?  You aren't asking me to _ask _her for you, are you, because you're barking if you think I'm going to do _that. _  Oi."

Neville was quiet  "I wanted to ask you if you could help me. . . charm Hermione into wanting to go to the ball with me."  He looked up at Ron who towered over him even more now that he had gone through another growth spurt.

Ron considered this.  "You think I can help you charm Hermione?"  He snorted.  "Have you ever seen me charm Hermione?  Oi, like everyone says, Neville, all we ever do is fight.  I'm probably the last person you'd want to ask about _that."_

"No!" Neville shouted, "you're exactly the person to ask."

"How's that?"

"You always make her laugh—"

"True, true," Ron said, although he blushed red and could feel his ears burning.

"And when you two aren't shouting at one another you get along really well.  Everyone else thinks so, too."

"They do?  I mean—why ask me, though?  Why not Harry?  I know he's got a bit on his mind lately, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind a little distraction.  He gets along with her a lot better than I do too.  You've seen them?  Harry hardly ever argues with Hermione, except for maybe when she's being an unbearable know-it-all."

Neville gave Ron a questioning look.  

Ron felt disconcerted, all this staring at him.  Being the youngest boy in a family of nine, and to top that off, being one of Harry Potter's best friends, Ron was used to feeling overshadowed.  

"You know her best too, don't you Ron?  That's what Harry said."

Ron had nothing to say.  Instead, he dropped into the couch and let his head rest on the cushions.  He stared at the ceiling of the common room.  He listened to the crackling of the fire and to Neville's nervous shuffling.

"I'll help you," Ron said eventually and in so quiet a voice that Neville had to step closer and ask him what he had just said.

Hearing this, Neville squeaked with joy.  "Thank you, Ron!  You're such a good friend.  Thank you!"  Then he looked around the room, and at the clock.  "'spose I should get getting back to bed.  You coming up, Ron?"

Ron waved him off.  "I'll be up shortly.  Get some sleep, will ya, Neville?"

Ron watched as Neville's pajama bottoms disappeared up the staircase.  The orange embers in the fireplace soon died out, and the room was cast in darkness.  Ron didn't go to bed, though.  He sat there in the Gryffindor common room a little longer, eyes wide open in the dark, and thinking.


	2. Lessons in Love

Cyronald 

by Ford Prefect

Chapter 2: Lessons in Love

            Ron had suspected, but he had hoped that his gut feeling was wrong:  Trying to teach Neville how to get a girl to like him was like trying to teach Neville how to master his potions lessons.  Everything was all mixed-up, and the situation had the very distinct possibility of blowing up in both their faces.

            They had plenty of time to practice and talk, much to Ron's relief.  Now that Quidditch was starting up again, Harry was often gone at practices, especially now that he was helping out more with team strategy.  And having Hermione out of the way was easy.  Whenever the students had free time she would be off studying for the O.W.L.s.  These days she practically lived in the library.  Ron thought it was a little bit of a nesting thing that girls did (his mum was like that sometimes), but he thought it was mostly her.  She had been tetchy as of late too.  He thought it was probably all the prattling she had to hear Parvati and Lavender go on and on about, especially now with the ball coming up.  Hell, if all he did was study for fun, and then  had to put up with that chatter all night long, he'd go absolutely barking as well.  So he had forgiven her for snapping at him the other day when he had offered to tear up a couple of books ("Hogwarts: A History?" he had suggested) to make her a bed in the library in a corner over by the Divination section of the library stacks.

            Hermione had been nagging at him for weeks to join her in studying for the O.W.L.s, but he had made quite clear his feelings on that matter.  However, she hadn't given up.  Day after day, a bloke couldn't even eat a quiet dinner without her going on and on about how important the O.W.L.s were for their future, blah, blah, blah.  Eventually he had broken down just so she'd quit nagging him and give him a little peace, and agreed to one extra study section a week.

            Their study sessions in the library were providing good research though, Ron rationalized.  Whenever Hermione studied or did her homework (which seemed like most of the time), she was in another world entirely.  It was fascinating to watch her sometimes though.  She was as intense about studying as Harry was when he played Quidditch, and when he himself played chess. 

            He had seen her concentration break a few times, though.  Just a week ago, a third-year Ravenclaw boy had knocked against her chair and she had been a hair's-breadth away from hexing him.  Then, during one of their study sessions together, Ron's knee had bumped against hers and she had slapped it away.  She had also let out a startled squeak, dropped her Artithmancy textbook, and turned bright pink from all the embarrassment.  Hermione was definitely off her nut lately.  Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she _was _going crazy, and it was only mid-September.  Ron was a bit worried: There was still a whole year of crazy for her left.

            Thinking back on the moment, she had never apologized for hitting him.  Ron couldn't help it that he was growing into a strapping young lad. But of course, he could never tell with her anymore these days.  One minute she was getting all weepy on him, throwing her arms around him and being a complete _girl, _then she was running about slapping around Malfoy, which was a side of Hermione Ron wouldn't mind seeing more of.  But it didn't help that she liked to hang around unsavory characters like that Viktor Krum.  Absolutely barking, that one, he thought.

            After much secretive discussion over the past week, Ron decided it was time to give Neville some practice.  They found an empty classroom where they could talk more freely.  Ron had told Professor Trewlawny that they needed somewhere more private where they could focus their auras and find their inner eyes, and she had given him a dreamy look and then permission.

            "Okay, Neville.  Lesson one."

            Neville pulled out a quill and a roll of parchment that unfurled, bounced on the floor, then rolled for a few feet until it thudded to a stop as it hit a desk.

            Ron sighed, then continued on.  "First things first, Neville.  Girls are _not like normal people._"

            Neville quickly scribbled this down quickly, then looked up expectantly for the next part.

            "For example, look at Parvati and Lavender.  Not.  Normal.  They may seem like it sometimes, but then they go do something funny and then run off to go braid their _hair_ or something mad like that."   Ron paced the room, gesturing at the appropriate moments as Neville continued to write furiously.   "I mean, some of them don't even like Quidditch.  I mean c'mon, what is that?  I just don't understand girls sometimes."

            Neville looked up, startled.  Ron, quickly realized his slip and corrected himself.  

            "I don't understand some girls sometimes, but Hermione, I do.  Don't worry about it, mate."

            Looking more confident now, Neville leaned forward, hanging on Ron's every word.  Ron puffed up a little proudly at this.  He thought maybe he'd have to look into becoming a professor or something like that if this worked out well with Neville.

            "Now," Ron said pressing on, "while girls are different, Hermione is different from _them._  She's not your typical girl, if you haven't noticed.  Though I think you have."

            Ron paused and ran a hand through his hair.  It was getting very mussed up lately, and it was starting to rival Harry's hair for unruliness.  Ron had even spotted Ginny eyeing him, looking suspiciously like she wanted to _comb _him.

            Neville raised his hand.

            "Ron.  What can I do to make her," here he blushed a little bit, biting his lip, "well, what can I do to make her you know, notice me more, but in a good way?  I mean, besides asking her to help me with potions homework."  Neville turned a little more pink in the cheeks.  To put up with this much embarrassment, Ron thought, Neville must really, really fancy Hermione.  

            Ron sat down in a chair by the blackboard to think.  Distractedly, he ran his hand across the board, his fingers becoming streaked with chalk dust.  He tried to think of what he usually did when she'd start hovering around him, annoying him.  Then he got it.

            Ron snapped up in his seat.  "I got it, Neville.  Easy stuff."  Ron was so pleased with himself for thinking of the idea that he almost forgot to say what it was.

            "Ron?"

            "Oh, right.  Like I said easy.  Just don't do your homework."

            Neville stared, unsure whether or not he should be getting it or not.

            Ron hopped off his chair and walked over to where Neville was sitting.  

            "Trust me, mate.  Whenever I'm _not _ doing my homework she's always right there going on and on about how 'it is soooo important for me to do my homework,' and how 'what if you don't pass your exams?' and 'What will Professor McGonnagall think?  And your mum!'  What a nutter.  Honestly, she's going to snap one day and we all better hope we remember how to disarm her."

            "How is that supposed to maker her notice me in a good way though, Ron?"

            "Well, uh.  Well maybe that's how you get her to come over in the first place, and when you're being all rebellious (girls love that—even Hermione, I reckon) she'll come over and you can do your thing."

            "What do I say," Neville spluttered, "when she does come over?"  He looked very serious.  "What if she yells at me?  What do I say to charm her?"

            "Well . . ." Ron tried to imagine Neville charming Hermione, and in doing so he almost snorted out loud.  She's probably hex him if he tried.

            "Ron?"

            "Oh.  Sorry there.  Let me think."

            Ron didn't imagine that complimenting her on her hair was going to work.  It had been ages since she had done that funny stuff to her hair that had made it all smooth and pretty and weird.  Also, Hermione wasn't Lavender or Parvati.  And while telling her how smart she was wouldn't hurt, Neville did that almost every time he asked for homework help, and if he did it again it was likely that she wouldn't even bat an eyelash.  Besides, it wasn't like she needed to hear how _bloody brilliant_ she was.  It was enough that she was smart and that she also knew it.  Ron didn't know if he could bear being around her if she was even _more _of a know-it-all than usual.

            The idea at last popped into his head, and Ron almost hit himself in the forehead, it was so obvious.  "Make her laugh, Neville," he said.  "She's always so _serious_, and if you can make her laugh she'll be just that much better for it.  She'll definitely notice you then.  Don't worry if she calls you a prat or something.  She's always nagging me when I annoy her and make her laugh and put her off her studies, but I see her smiling to herself when she thinks nobody's looking."  Ron grinned.  

            "What if I'm not funny, Ron?"  Neville had put down the quill and now stared moodily out the window.  Ron saw a giant tentacle swing out from lake and splash down again, disappearing below the surface.   He walked over to where Neville sat and put a hand on his friend's shoulder.  

            "Then we will have to do something about that." 

***

            Luring Hermione out of the library and back into the common room was harder than Ron had thought.  She had huffed and puffed, and complained that if she went to the common room he would only harass her the whole time and try to get her to _stop _studying and bully her into playing chess or _something, _and that would be entirely the opposite of what she wanted to do.

            "Hermiiiione!" he had whined, bending down on both knees, hands pressed together and begging with as much flourish as possible (Fred and George would have been proud of their little brother).  "I never see you anymore, and when I do your head is always buried in a book.  And then it's just all hair."  He made a poofing motion around his head to illustrate.  She tried to give him her most severe frown, but failed miserably.  "At least come back to the common room where you can study and we can actually see you.  Harry misses you too, and how are we supposed to stay out of trouble if you're around to nag us and tell us how many ways we could get expelled?"

            Ron got back up to his feet and brushed his dress robes with a prissy swat here, and a prissy swat there.  "For all you know, Harry and I could have gotten into loads of trouble so far, and it's only the beginning of term."  He sniffed.

            "You are such a prat, Ronald Weasley!"

            He tutted at her for using such language, and after that they launched into a bit of a shouting match.  As it happened, Miss Pince threatened to throw them out of the library for disturbing the other students, and only after Ron had grabbed Hermione's bag of books and made a mad dashed back to the Gryffindor common room through the torch-lit corridors, did he manage to get her where he wanted her to be.

            He was panting hard (he wondered how she wasn't crippled from the sheer weight of the books she carried around with her) and laughing into his sleeve on the couch when Hermione finally caught up with him, looking ferociously angry.  She was towering over him staring daggers when he looked up.  Ron shot her his most beatific smile and shoved the books over so she could have a seat next to him.  

            "You look tired, Hermione.  What's up?"

            "Oooh!  Ron!"

            Ron looked past her shoulder to see if Neville was positioned as they had planned.  He saw Neville watching them with rapt attention near the desk by the fireplace, and distinctly caught him mouthing the word, "Brilliant."  Ron felt his cheeks glow with pride.  Now if only the next part would not fail as painfully and horribly as he had imagined it to over the last few sleepless nights.

            He coughed nervously into his fist, Hermione still glowering at him, and launched immediately into part two of the plan.  

            "Oi!  Neville mate.  You're not studying now, are you?"

            Neville jumped at Ron's voice and looked around the room, a panicked expression on his face.  Ron felt his muscles tense, but Neville proved to be of tougher stuff.

            "Homework?"  Neville made a disdainful noise.  "I'm done with doing homework!  Who needs it?  I'd rather, uh . . ."  He froze for a moment, and looked desperately at Ron who for a second blanked.  What _was it_ that Nevilleliked to do?   He just hoped Neville knew how to read lips because Ron hadn't launched into part three of the plan yet.  At last, Ron mouthed the first thing that came to his mind.  

            "I'd rather play cribbage," Neville said defiantly.  Hermione looked at Neville, confused.

            Ron smacked his hand against his forehead.

            "Quidditch!" Neville corrected.  "I'd rather be playing quidditch."

            "That's right, mate," Ron mumbled with relief.

            That could have gone a lot more smoothly, Ron thought, making a mental note to himself.  But he soon forgot that.  He had to see how Hermione reacted.

            She didn't disappoint.  A low, irritated growl came from her mouth.  She spun on him.  "Goodness!" she cried.

            "What'd I do?" Ron said, standing up to face her.

            She stuttered, her cheeks turning pink.  From his height, he could even see the blush spreading to her temples by the little tufts of hair that were more reddish than brown.  "Honestly!" she finally managed,  "you're rubbing off on everyone now, Ron!"  She turned around and started towards the fireplace.  "Neville.  You can't listen to Ron.  He's a bad influence.  Here . . ."

            Ron smiled.  Really, she was just too easy.  Now if only the next step would go well.  He didn't want to imagine the wealth of curses Hermione had at her disposal if she found out what they playing at.

[End Chapter 2]


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